


No Rest For The Wicked

by andrastesflamingsword



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Fog Warriors, Other, Seheron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3670032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrastesflamingsword/pseuds/andrastesflamingsword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris' time in Seheron</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one

The sand is hot under his feet, too hot and yet he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that it burns, that the sun beats down strong upon him and if he keeps standing out in it like this, his skin will burn too. He cares little from the sounds coming from the heavy jungle behind him, or the tide that crawls up the beach, threatening to swallow it whole.

_He left me behind._

That thought runs through his mind again and again as he stands upon the beaches of Seheron, staring out across the sea. Bodies lay sprawled across the sands, blood staining it all a deep red and he can hear the footsteps behind him, wary, cautious as they approach.

Danarius is gone. Left him behind, claiming there was no room on the boat, but he would return. Of course he would return. What kind of a fool would he be to abandon such a _prize._

Fenris isn’t entirely sure he registers the threatening words, the orders to follow. Will he remember them later? Perhaps not. His feet seem to move of their own accord until he’s no longer standing upon hot sand, but ground covered in roots and leaves.

It seems impossibly warmer in the jungle, stiflingly so and sweat sticks to his skin in the most uncomfortable way. He realises, some time later, who these people that lead him further in. 

_Fog Warriors._

Everyone knew of them, yet few saw them and those that did rarely came back. They were supposed to be vicious. Savages. Humans claimed the same thing about elves, about anything they didn’t deem civilized. 

He expected them to kill him or make some kind of example of him when they reached their encampment. They didn’t. They might be wary of him, but these warriors were curious, more then anything else. They asked about his marks, and he told what he knew, which was very little. 

The fact that he was a slave seemed to shock them, the very idea of it appalling. They told him he wasn’t a slave here. 

That he was _free._

The very notion of it was foreign. What was he supposed to do with freedom? Every time thought the word, it felt as if some kind of weight was gone, like broken chains falling from his person. Freedom was the choice to make his own decision, to be his own person and he had no idea how to do any of it.

The Warriors let him move amongst them freely, shared their food and showed him how they survived in such a place. The elf came to feel like he was one of them, like he _belonged_. How strange it seemed, to feel more at home with strangers then he ever felt in Tevinter. 

Days turned into weeks, until he decided Danarius may not return after all. For the first time in years, he felt exhilarated by the idea. He didn’t have to live as a slave any more, to follow orders and head them without question. He didn’t have to be paraded around like some prize.

One day they presented him with a sword, a sign that they had accepted him.

_Lethendralis_.

That was their name for it. A fine name too. Fenris held the blade in his hands, completely unsure what to or say. He had never been given a gift before, and now, to receive something as grand as this? It was overwhelming. 

The elf treasured it like nothing before, like it was more precious then anything else in the world. And to him, it was.

The weeks dragged on, his hope that the magister would not return growing each and every day. But it was a silly thing to hope something like that. How many times had Danarius told him how important he was? That he has invested a lot in Fenris and that he would not be let go so easily? 

Horns sounded from near the beach and he knew.

Danarius had returned.


	2. Chapter 2

Danarius had returned.

At least, he assumed it was his master as he made his way back through the thicket of the jungle, the pathways back the encampment alight with flames. The smell of burning plantation filled the air, heavy with smoke as he pushed on.

Who else would come here with the intention of burning everything to the ground, simply because it suited them?

Fenris finds himself coming to a halt when he reaches the camp and it’s clear to see who is winning this fight, the balance tipped in the Magisters favour all because of their advantage. The elf freezes up, watching horrified from the edge of the trees as the people he had come to call friends fall to fire and ice and _blood magic_. 

He moves too late to join the fray, the fighting already over by the time he reaches for his weapon. They had made quick work of the Fog Warriors, despite their prowess in combat. Those that remain are gathered up, bound and dragged before Danarius. It is then he chooses to notice the elf, turning towards him with a look of familiar condescension that makes something in his gut twist sickeningly. 

All this slaughter, just for _him_? How far was this madman willing to go? All for someone he considers little more then property? Perhaps he should not have asked himself that question, for he soon finds out the answer, whether he wishes to know it or not. 

“My little wolf. To think, I waste all these resources just to come and get you, and I find you getting far too comfortable with the enemy.” 

He thinks to shame the elf with his words, belittle him, make him believe he has done something wrong and yet for the first time, Fenris feels no guilt at having displeased his master. He never realised before that the shackles that bound him could be broken, that he did not have to live his life in fear of the lash, constantly doing what he was told. 

It feels like a waiting game at this moment, on the elf plays with baited breath, because surely some for of punishment is to come? Danarius is not the kind of man to simple brush of such an offence as if it were nothing. 

His master paces, walks a slow circle around him until he stands behind Fenris and the elf tenses, even more so when the magister tuts at the action. “Now this just won’t do. We shall have to take you home and have you learn your place once more. But first….” 

Hands fall upon his shoulders, a warm breath brushes against his cheek and that is enough to have Fenris shuddering, almost fearful of what is going to happen next. 

On some level, he expects the words that fall from his masters lips, though it does not stop him from sucking in a sharp breath, eyes widening for a moment before they slide shut, unable to look upon the faces of his **friends**.

“ _Kill them_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I want to add a third chapter or not. It would be the last one if I did. Let me know if you want it or not!

**Author's Note:**

> This hasn't been beta'd so I apologies for any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. I have posted this on tumblr, on my blog liberatiiis.


End file.
